Harry Potter And The Eyes Of Blood
by Lelouch4705
Summary: Power, seductive and tempting in all its forms. Does power ever come at too high a price? Are the eyes of a God worth the loss of a soul? A life? Questions without answers, perhaps. Meaningless, definitely. For who can put a price on power that can shape a world? !AU !SharinganHarry
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All copyrighted products are the property of their respective owners.**

'….' Thinking.  
"…." Speaking.

Chapter:

He could feel pain. It caressed him like a hungry lover, consumed him like a raging tide and burned him like the flames of the sun. It filled him, melded him, and remade him. The world did not exist beyond the pain and by extension; neither did he. Yet, for all that, the boy showed few external signs that would betray the turmoil he felt within. Perhaps, more than one person would later remark sadly, a testament to the sheer commonality of it all. That's not to say the boy had been made strong through his struggles; he was just too broken and hurt too many times to go through the futile exercise of struggle. This was a mere glimpse into the life of one Harry Potter.

The boy couldn't see, not without his glasses. It was dark inside his cupboard; his home. He breathed slowly, a wheezing sound struggling past his lips as he tried once more to fall into the void known as sleep. Yet again, his efforts were brushed aside as a sharp pain raced across his chest. His ribs were poking his skin in an entirely unnatural way, their touch like the coldest knives. Resigned, he willed himself until he was sitting on his excuse for a bed, his face drawn up into a grimace.

Not for the first time, did he curse himself and the world. He cursed himself because he was simply too weak, the world because he needed to be strong to survive. Harry merely closed his eyes, letting the emptiness of his mind consume him. His mind was the only gift nature had sought fit to give him, a sanctuary he could always turn to. The boy felt another stab, this time from his bruised hands. A sanctuary not entirely unassailable, he realized sadly, in words a mere ten year old could understand.

He felt a cool wash over him and sighed in relief. Harry Potter knew the pain of today would soon be forgotten, barring a few scars of course. Harry couldn't understand how or why but he could feel himself fixing; ribs sliding into place and wounds searing shut leaving somewhat unblemished skin. An odd sensation, yet one he was intimately familiar with. It always washed over him after his excuse for a family left him bruised and battered.

Harry merely let the waves wash over him, knowing full well this would only make his Uncle furious enough to try harder next time. Uncle Vernon thinking him a freak was why he was left like this to begin with after all. 'I am not a freak', he reaffirmed in his prepubescent mind. Freaks were bad things, while this strange comfort was the only good thing in his life. Still, he had to admit, as the last of his wounds sealed away; it was weird.

Feeling the pain ebb away, he unconsciously let out a pleased moan. This was what he lived for; the times when there wasn't pain, when there weren't endless chores he had to do or even when light itself was absent. It was just Harry, his steady breathing and the comforting dark. Alas, he knew, it wasn't to be for long. If his sense of time was anything to go by, it was almost morning. He needed to get breakfast ready; he'd had enough beatings for one week. Sigh, he picked up his glasses from a nearby stand.

It is with this resolve that Harry Potter now found himself in the kitchen, absently making a breakfast he would ultimately get little part of. His thoughts drifted while his hands retained their hard honed precision, precision easily gained when the only alternative is horrifying. Harry could feel himself drifting an endless sea. Every day was the same, every moment a repeat of the last. The raven haired boy could feel himself being wasted. Feel as if there was something much greater he should be doing though his young self could not even comprehend what. The truth was, he was dying. Dying a death breeding from stagnation, of a life without excitement or change. Although he was too young to understand, he knew somethings. He needed to change something and he needed to change it soon.

So lost was the young Potter within his musings that he hardly noticed the thump on his shoulder. "Boy," his Aunt Petunia sneered, "You had better make sure breakfast is ready soon. We have a busy day today."

Harry's eyebrow quirked of its own accord. 'As if Vernon The Whale could even move freely,' he thought amused. Face blank, he mumbled that it would be done soon. Petunia, apparently satisfied, made her way over to the table Harry had set not long before. She was soon joined by Dudley, his rather bloated cousin. 'Too many eggs in him _._ ' Dudley was wide, a miniature of his father in some ways. He was bigger than Harry, or two Harry's, now that he thought about it. Even if he was a mess of bones that was quite a feat.

Not long later, Uncle Vernon stumbled downstairs. He looked angry, well, angrier than usual anyway. He pulled out his seat without a word and began stuffing his face like a man possessed. All the while, Harry stood by quietly. He would get his food after the others had finished eating; assuming there was anything left then which he most certainly began to doubt.

Apparently having finally found the time to breathe in between inhaling food, he spoke. "Freak, your Aunt and I will be gone for most of the day. You'll do all your chores and make sure to keep everything neat and tidy. Won't you?" He glared. Beside him, Dudley looked like he was watching his favorite TV show while his Aunt was pretending he didn't exist.

"Yes, Uncle." Harry mumbled while repressing a shiver.

There wasn't much conversation to be had after that. After they had consumed most of his morning effort, the Dursley's had simply left without much else, leaving Harry alone. He helped himself to what little was left of breakfast, the bites cold and yet, welcomed all the same. He knew what he had to do then, and it seemed fate did to.

He couldn't keep himself cooped up in this hellhole. Harry had to go out, to breathe air clean of such filth. Oh, he wished he could make such an arrangement permanent but even at ten, Harry Potter was no idiot. He wouldn't make it very far on his own. He needed them, and they knew it. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't at least try and have a good time. Harry managed a weak smile that turned into a grimace as he stepped outside.

 **XXXX**

It felt amazing to be outside. He'd been cramped up in that thrice damned cupboard for so long that just about anything else would feel great in comparison. Harry could taste the air, feel the sun on his face and treat himself to a host of colors he hadn't seen in quite a while. He hadn't had much opportunity to step outside after having been withdrawn from his last school. The young Potter resolved to enjoy every second of this he could.

The sky was overcast, painting the world in a brilliant hue of gray. All around him, he could see homes, people, a stray cat or dog. He could see the full kaleidoscope of life and he was enjoying every second of it. The boy himself was drawing his fair share of stairs as well. He looked underfed, a suspicion his oversized clothes didn't do much to dissuade. Ironically, and not unexpectedly, no one did approach him.

His idle wandering had taken him on an elaborate trip around his neighborhood. Harry Potter had even visited the local park that was small yet inviting all the same. He had a fun time on the swings, the adrenaline from one particularly careless thrust pulsing through his body. One person can only entertain themselves for so long and Harry found himself moving on, looking and hoping for some other indulgence. It is that hoping that had him standing in front of this particular building.

It wasn't much to speak about. Indeed, the building itself wasn't very remarkable at all. It was bigger than most of the houses he had seen and yet he couldn't ever remember having seen it before. He shrugged, it must be new. He hadn't seen the outside in a while after all. The shining metal plate on the wall outside was imprinted with the words _Public Library._ With hardly a second thought, Harry Potter chose to step inside.

If possible, the inside was even stranger, He could see rows upon rows of books all stacked neatly into columns. There were more books than Harry had ever seen! All around him, people moved silently with one book or another. Some were busy reading on a set of neatly arranged tables and chairs off to the corner. No one was talking and it was perfect.

Enthusiastically, Harry Potter ventured inside, his appearance garnering little attention from the engrossed people within. Many of the books seemed either horrifyingly large or horrifyingly boring. What would he do by after reading about all the things he could make with eggs? Most of the others were clearly far too difficult to be understood by someone as literate as him. He moved around, looking through this book and that, trying to find something he could and would want to read. His feet made a slight shuffling sound as his frustration only made him browse faster.

Finally, he found such a worthy book in one particular section of the library. Harry could see that many of the other books here were similarly readable for someone as young as him. The child filed that away later as he eagerly took his conquest with him to sit at a nearby table. Pulling out a seat beside a girl who seemed to have fallen asleep on whatever she was reading, Harry looked at the cover.

 _The Tales Of Merlin._ The front cover showed a proud looking man clad in strange colored robes looking out into the sunset. Idly flipping through all of the pages, Harry could tell it was full of pictures. Harry liked books with pictures. He started reading and with each turn of the page, lost himself deeper to the tale of one Myrddin Emrys. The irony of this particular moment would only dawn on him years later.

It was only after several hours did Harry find himself finally closing the book with a tired sigh. He'd gone through it all, it wasn't a big book but Harry was still proud of himself anyway. The Potter had had a lot of fun. Merlin was fascinating and the tales of his adventures struck a chord with something inside Harry. If he'd have been older, he would have recognized it as the need for escape.

Harry looked at the clock and saw that five hours had already gone by. 'I should head back', he thought dejectedly. He didn't want to go back, Harry had actually enjoyed today a lot. He consoled himself with the fact that he now had something to do when the Dursleys were away and resolved to visit the library as often as possible. Leaving the book on the table, Harry made to leave.

Outside, the world had changed hue. The sun was now far lower in the sky, its light more orange than yellow. Reflecting off of dark homes and yet darker trees, it made for a pretty sight in the young child's eyes. He couldn't help but admire all the sights and sounds. Couldn't help but drown in the blanket of warmth that covered his skin. Couldn't take for granted all the things he so rarely got to feel.

That therapeutic moment was cut short by the realization that he was in a bit of a rush. With a sigh and a shake of his shoulders, he was off. With any luck he'd be able to make it just before his relatives got back home. 'That's not good enough,' Harry mused. 'Petunia will be mad I haven't scrubbed the house clean yet. Vernon will be upset I still exist.'

Honestly, how was he supposed to know a book would suck up his time like a black hole? It wasn't unpleasant by any stretch of the imagination but the timing could have been a lot better by far. Still, it was a good day. One of the best days he'd ever had even. And for all that, Harry was happy.

The streets weren't very crowded, as expected from a suburban area at this time of day. There were still some kids at the park and they seemed to be having fun. Harry paid them little attention and was walking past when he heard a voice call out.

"Freak!" His blood ran cold. There were only so many people who would call him _that._ He paused mid stride one second only to bolt the next. His body moved of its own accord while his mind raced. His relatives couldn't possibly have come home already. Sure he hadn't wasted _that_ much time. The only few people left were people Harry had no interest in meeting.

He hadn't exactly been paying attention to where he was running. He was too caught up in his own panicked musings. Behind him, he could hear the same shouts over and over again. Maybe it was just him but they seemed to be drawing closer and closer every second. Panting from exhaustion, Harry turned a corner only to find himself at a dead end.

"Fuck." He cursed, copying one of Uncle Vernon's favorite phrases. Behind him, he heard the distinct sound of rushed footsteps coming to a stop.

He turned around, finding a boy dressed in a fitting blue teal blue shirt and black pants. The boy was panting and it took a while for Harry to recognize him. Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best friend and a member of his so called 'gang' was, from what he could remember, one of the stupidest and most cowardly of the lot.

"Finally, caught up to you now did I Potter?" Piers sneered and gave him a look that was supposed to be frightening, but only ended up looking pathetic. "It's been a while since we've gone Harry hunting; Dudley should have locked you in the basement and kept you there." The boy sneered.

'That's a lot of pride over being able to ambush one person with five people _.'_ Harry smartly chose not to voice his thoughts. Harry tuned him out in favor of finding some way to escape his current predicament. The alley he'd found himself in was too small and Piers was probably too fast for him to just run fast. While it's true that he'd only got picked on when there were five of them, he didn't find his odds much better one on one.

The only thing he could think of was to try and stall him and look for a way out while the other boy was distracted.

"Don't you have any kindergarteners to torment?" Harry punctuated with his best sneer. It had the desired effect as the other boy looked positively murderous. _Close._ "You weren't scary with the rest of your thugs, right now you just look like a prat."

"Why you!?" The other boy charged, his feet banging against the flood. He was about as scary as an angry ten year old could be, which was a lot for a ten year old Harry Potter. Piers closed in fast, arm lifting up into a semblance of a fist. Harry had predicted as much, managing to duck underneath with all the grace a child could muster.

It didn't matter as a second later; he was past his captor and eagerly running in the opposite direction. Piers' indignant shouts trailed behind him as Harry was nearing the exit. He was just about to reach it too when his feet caught on something he was in too big a hurry to see.

"Fuck." Harry cursed as he sprawled to the ground. He was about to get up but he felt a blinding pain from his skull and slumped to the ground.

"You thought you could make a fool out of me freak?" Piers shook his fist as if in pain. "I'm going to teach you a real lesson this time."

Harry felt himself being dragged up shoulder first. He raised his head and saw the other boy's sadistic grin. Harry felt himself descending sharply, his face smacking against the pavement, his glasses shattering to pieces. He was in pain, pain that raced across his face and consumed it like a hungry mask. A dull thud and a sharper pain soon followed. Followed by another, and yet another. The young Potter was deaf to his own screams.

Inside his mind, he couldn't believe it was happening again. After all these months, Harry had finally been happy. He'd been the happiest he had ever been. It was all ruined, stolen away by the world's indifference. Hate and rage consumed him inside the shell of his physical pain.

His face was a mess of developing bruises and blood. His glasses had long since shattered, coating the pavement with shards of the sharp material. Harry felt a growing sense of numbness take over, pushing away pain with the embrace of a lover.

Piers' had a leering grin plastered across his face. He had wanted to do this for the longest time. The little pompous bastard just irritated him so much. Who cared if he was just a kid? Underneath him, Harry had stopped moving. He let him fall to the floor and having made sure the boy was only unconscious, he made to stand.

He had to go home soon; his mother would be worried about him. With any luck he'd make it back before his dad-

He felt a sense of lightness, a certain type of weightlessness. That was soon replaced by pain as he was slammed into an adjacent wall with a cracking sound that might have been bones. The thug slumped to the floor in pain while his mind was in complete shock. He looked at Potter and found a sight fit for any nightmare.

Harry was still crumpled on the floor but he faced him now. His face a mess of blood, his eyes stared deep into his. It felt like he was being seen _through._ The very essence of his soul being held for judgement by a power he couldn't fathom. He stared into those eyes, and caught a hint of red that may or may not have been blood. Those eyes still stared back.

Piers found himself hung over a volcano, his body being gradually dropped. Sweat ran in rivers down his cheeks and the fire drank it all hungrily. He was scared, too scared to think. So scared he could only think of surviving. His world was dark except the terror down below. The air itself was burnt and suffocating. He could feel heat unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It touched and caressed him and every tender ministration burned and stung. The boy might have been melting.

His feet broke the surface of that lava, seemingly dissolving instantly. The support fell, and he felt himself plunging.

In an alley, a boy screamed.

 **XXXX**

His eyes opened to a world sharper than anything he had ever seen before. He was surrounded by the familiar browns of his cupboard but god those browns looked clearer than anything he had ever seen before. Harry's body was a mess of bandages and covers and with some effort, he managed to sit up.

A sudden realization later and he groped his face. He wasn't wearing his glasses. Cold crept in his chest as he looked at the mirror on the wall. The mirror his Uncle had put there so the freak could tidy up whenever they had guests over.

His face was covered almost completely in bandages making a start contrast with his messy raven hair. Harry couldn't take his eyes away from his own reflection. He felt a pulsing, a memory, _an instinct_ he couldn't explain radiate around his eyes.

He watched, fascinated and terrified, as his sharp green eyes morphed right in front of him. Green eyes faded to something else, something _crimson._ His mouth gaped as he found himself staring into something distinctly _alien_.

His eyes were the color of blood and framed a dark ring. One tomoe spun ominously in each eye. Those eyes stared back with an inhuman intensity. An intensity that screamed of power.

'Fuck.'

 **XXXX**

 **Authors Note: So, that's the first chapter of what I hope will be a half decent, if not good, fic. Let me know if the new punctuation marks for speech and thought are better or if I should revert everything again.**

 **If you have a moment, leave a review with any thoughts you might have. Reviews keep writers warm in the winter. Gotta burn something right?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** **All copyrighted properties belong to their respective owners.**

'….' Thinking.  
"…." Speaking.

Chapter:

Harry's eleventh birthday came rather innocuously. He might have even missed it had Vernon not taken the delight of reminding the freak of all the extra chores he was supposed to do tomorrow. Of the way he was supposed to absolutely pamper his relatives for the great _honor_ in being allowed to stay at their humble abode. In this household, his birthday was for his relatives, not himself. Though maybe he'd get a new pair of pants, the old ones were slowly disintegrated with every step.

He wasn't much fazed. Harry had far better things to do with his time. These days the boy had taken to religiously studying his eyes, prying them with all the need of a starving man for all the secrets they were sure to hold. On that front he hadn't made much progress in the last several months. Honestly, at some points he almost believed he knew everything he could possibly know. However, in the dark hours of the night, with those ominous tomoes staring right back, he thought that assertion a foolish one. At least those eyes were pretty.

His first and only findings didn't take very long. The second he had, well, for lack of a better word, _activated_ them; he'd been assaulted by a world richer than anything had any right to be.  
Colors were deeper and richer. The entire world was more focused, as if at the center of a magnifying glass only he could see. Everything had its own special color. Living things tended to radiate a pale blue color while everything else, even the air itself, was a foreboding dark blue. It had been overwhelming and surreal to say the least.

Just staring out the window with them was like being blinded by a sun of every possible color all at once. The raging headache that had assaulted him soon after didn't make things much better. Needless to say, it had taken quite a bit of getting used to and even now Harry's head throbbed if he used those eyes for too long. Roses have thorns was apt.

Honestly, after having looked through them, the world looked utterly dead and lifeless without them.

One other fascinating discovery soon followed. Harry could practically see the future; Sort of. He could, with almost alarming accuracy, predict how and where people would move, where the leaves would sway, what almost every little thing in the world decided to do before it actually happened. It was like being a psychic, but real. And he thought the world being so sharp was the most disorienting anything could get. It would have been insanely cool if the mental load it put on his fragile brain didn't threaten to fry it.

But perhaps worst of all was the fact that he could _remember_. Everything Harry's eyes had seen while they were in that state was permanently etched inside his mind. It's strange when a memory of something happening months ago is more vivid than what you see right in front of you. It would have gone from fascinating to maddening if the memories weren't easily pushed aside by his mind when need be. As it stood, it was simply an intriguing nuisance.

Combined, those eyes were probably as much trouble as they were worth. And they were worth a lot. Even at such a young age, Harry could only marvel at all the things he could do with his eyes. Being able to quite literally do things like see the future, there was no telling what he could actually accomplish!

Of course that's assuming the eyes didn't drive him insane first. It would take a lot of getting used to and Harry had resolved to eventually make it as natural as breathing. The best he could do these days was to try and keep his eyes in that form for as long as he possibly could. Thirty minutes at a stretch was the best he had managed so far. And even that was with the minimal lighting he could find.

This was going to take a while.

Currently Harry was busy cleaning the dishes after his extended family had swallowed down everything he had managed to cook. These days he made even less of an effort to bug them than he usually did. After that incident with Piers, they were especially murderous.

From what he could gather, the other boy had been rushed to the hospital. There wasn't a single wound on him while Harry himself had entirely too many scars and bruises to count. Piers' parents wisely didn't try to press any charges. It had been months since that incident and from what Harry could gather, the other boy was still in the hospital from whatever he had experienced.

The child's family aside, the neighbors themselves had taken to treating him like a peculiar and dangerous animal. If any of them ever showed up for the rare visit, they took to either glaring or studying him. If they expected to find any claws, they were sorely disappointed. Vernon and Petunia had it in their minds that it by extension reflected badly on them and that was the reason for their increased ire. They didn't matter anyway, not in the face of his eyes and all the things he could only imagine lighting up his future.

Still, there was one benefit to all this. Harry wasn't stupid; he and Piers were the only ones in that alley. Whatever happened to him was because of his eyes and if he could do something like that whenever need be; life would be a lot easier.

It's never as simple as that though. Try as he might, he simply hadn't gotten anywhere. Harry didn't even know where he had to go! After all, he had no idea what his eyes had done to Piers let alone how they had done it. It was a frustrating quandary made all the more agitating by the fact that he could _feel_ there was something more, just outside of reach. Like having a persistent itch yet not knowing where to scratch.

At the moment, he was activating and deactivating his eyes every few seconds. The key here was to slowly get used to using them in a world brighter than a basement. It was hard work, his head tended to sting every time his focus shifted. More than once he had almost dropped whatever plate he was washing in an instinctive attempt to cradle his head.

Coming from the inside of the living room he could distinctly hear the blare of a television and what must have an action movie if the loud gunshots were anything to go by. Dudley must have been watching his silly Westerns again. Aunt Petunia was likely trying to dissuade him from watching something so obscene, Vernon likely watching it as enthusiastically as his son and waving away her concerns.

The bell rang with its distinct and familiar chime. Putting aside whatever currently plagued his hands, Harry made for the door. Passing through the living room, he couldn't see but he could certainly feel the glare he was likely getting. Sheesh. He'd probably only obscured the television for a second. _Privileged bastards._

It was with no small measure of annoyance that Harry Potter opened the door. He was greeted by a sight that one would normally only see on the last day of October. There, standing in the doorway, was a near elderly looking woman wearing what could only be described as a robe. Was that…was that a pointy hat on her head? Apparently Harry was too busy staring to notice the woman's lips were curled up into a smile.

'I trust you are done, Mr. Potter?' Cheeks aflame, he shook himself as if to run from the mortifying situation. It was only then that he realized.

'How do you know who I am, Ma'am?' He asked with a hint of curiosity and more than a little alarm. 'I'd remember seeing someone like you if you lived close by.' And that was true. Harry was pretty sure he could spot her in a busy crowd and from a hundred meters away. Seriously, who dresses up like that in July?

The woman merely looked at him, with an intensity that felt like she was looking through him instead of at him. He felt naked in front of her. Harry felt as if there wasn't a thing in the world he could hide from this woman. She glanced at the birthmark of a scar on his forehead and seemed to be deep in thought. Her eyes seem to dim a little and then brighten so quickly Harry wasn't sure if he hadn't just dreamed it. She seemed to make a decision for her face took on a look of resolve.

'Professor McGonagall,' Harry had enough time to register confusion before she continued. 'That is what you may call me from now on young man. Come, shouldn't we be heading inside?' Before Harry could protest she had already stepped inside and was moving towards where the Dursleys currently were.

Harry was horrified. Vernon would definitely try and skin him alive for just letting a stranger into their home! He supposed the best he could hope for was a mild yelling at. In front of him, Professor McGonagall strode with all the resolve of a woman marching out to war. Resigned, Harry could do naught but follow her.

Several things happened seemingly at the same time as they strode into the room. Petunia, who had apparently been staring at the doorway waiting for Harry, gasped. Her hand shot up to cover her gaping mouth as her face slowly but surely, lost a lot of color. Harry wasn't sure, but he might have seen recognition and fear in her eyes. And was that envy?

Vernon, apparently having heard his wife's howl, faced the two. He was turning an alarming shade of red that was a mix of both frightening and hilarious. 'Careful, you might pop a blood vessel, Uncle.' Harry internally sniggered as his Uncle abruptly made to stand up. His eyes were clouded with rage, and his mouth opened to unleash a hail of what was sure to be only the filthiest of words.

Harry winced, and then slowly opened his eyes. He could hear nothing. Vernon's lips twisted and turned and it wasn't hard to guess what they were trying to spew. Yet Harry could hear nothing. Slowly, he turned to McGonagall standing right beside him.

Her hand was extended and pointed straight at the patriarch. The Professor looked disgusted and yet unsurprised, a thought that puzzled Harry. In that moment, she looked like a Queen in all her frozen and magnificent glory. He had never found himself admiring someone more. Had never found a person who had an air of obedience around her so tight that one could do naught else but comply.

Instinctively, his eyes were activated, seeking to forever preserve this one glorious moment for the rest of his life. She looked odd, even by his standards, even under these eyes. For one, she was easily the brightest person that Harry had ever seen. It huddled in her core, a light so dense that he couldn't help but think the Professor was containing it somehow. Harry was glad for that; he didn't think he would even be able to look at her otherwise, not for a while.

With these eyes, he was able to take in things about he that were previously past his notice yet made all too clear under these eyes. She was tall, taller than Harry would probably be in years. Her robes were black and oddly, Harry could see them filled with the same blue light that consumed her person. It was nowhere near as strong though. Her skin looked worn, worn by years of untold adventures. And…was that a stick in her hand?

It seemed to radiate that same light out into the room at an alarming rate. He could follow that trail and found it practically covering his Uncle's mouth, obscuring it from his view. Whatever was happening, it was clear she was the cause. 'Wicked.' He thought fascinated beyond words.

She coughed and suddenly the world was in motion again. "I trust you people still remember me from our last encounter?" Her voice was dripping with so much scorn she could drown the room with it. Was that a touch of amusement as well?

At her question, his Uncle had gone from red to green so fast Harry wondered if he wasn't a peculiar traffic light. He was big enough to be several after all. Dudley, apparently having only been a silent observer up till this point, no doubt more due to surprise than any tact he had; turned to his mother. "Mum, who's the stray?"

Petunia only paled further and hissed at her son to shut up. Having seen him properly chastised, she turned to the older woman. "Yes, we remember all right. Why are you here again? You promised that was the last we'd ever see you!" Apparently, she had regained enough courage to yell like a particularly close to death and starving dog.

It only took a glare from McGonagall to see her once again popping like an overinflated balloon. "Your young charge Harry Potter, who was given to you in good faith; just like his mother he has shown immense bursts of accidental magic within this home. As this is his eleventh birthday, and as he is who he is, I wished to give him his Hogwarts' letter personally."

Harry didn't know where or how to begin. He could only look at the woman right next to him with his mouth open. She was joking right? There was no way half of what she said was true; even if she knew his name without him telling her, even if she could make Vernon stay quiet with a stick, even if his eyes were what they were.

On second thought, he found her claims a lot more believable if no less maddening. Magic! To think that all that stuff about wizards and witches might actually be true. And he had seen magic, seen it clearly with his own eyes and Vernon couldn't make a sound no matter how hard he had tried. If what she was saying was true, _then he had done magic._ There was only one possibility of that happening and he had a sneaking suspicion it was about his eyes. What if she knew what he had done to Piers? Would he be punished for that? Go to magical jail or whatever it would probably be?

And perhaps more importantly, she said his mother could do it too. Could his father? Was it a trait all his family had? He'd certainly never seen Dudley do anything magical. Failing the easiest of classes didn't count. The Professor had also implied that his mother had also been invited to Hogwarts. What kind of name was that anyway?

There were so many thoughts racing across his mind that he may as well have been in his own little world. McGonagall might have taken pity on him for she continued, "It would appear that this gesture of good will has been…mishandled. Harry Potter is a magical child. And he deserves better,'' She was glaring at Petunia, daring her to say anything to the contrary. Her hard eyes softened as she turned to regard the young Potter. "I trust you have questions?"

It was all Harry could do to nod. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the finest magical school in all of Britain. Just like your parents, it is your time to be enrolled in that prestigious institution. I am merely here to give you your acceptance letter and to inform you that I shall again be here on the first of September to collect you," She breathed deeply, "Any other questions you have shall be addressed in sufficient detail then. Today has been a tiring day."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a sealed letter from somewhere inside her robes and pressed it into his hand. She stared at him, like that first time she did when they met. "You are not alone." She whispered solemnly.

That seemed to break the tide. Harry unwittingly found his eyes watering and his chest becoming painfully tight. He turned away, as if to hide his embarrassment. "Thank you." He whispered as the witch nodded.

She cast the room one last look, "I trust Mr. Potter will be cared for appropriately? I will be here to collect him and any harm on him would be…unfortunate." The _for you_ in that statement was left unsaid but felt all the same. Petunia seemed to have become paler, if that was even possible. Vernon had physically sagged on his chair, his face resigned. That poor chair. Even Dudley seemed solemn. Perhaps he had something in that overgrown skull after all.

And with that, the Professor was off; off to wherever people who could do magic and make people quiet with a touch went. Harry was left with dozens of different feelings all fighting to be considered first. He couldn't even hear his Uncle ranting who had apparently just been given his voice back. Almost distractedly, he unsealed the letter and meant to read it.

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL_ _of_ _WITCHCRAFT_ _and_ _WIZARDRY_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Mr Potter,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 1 September. We await you within our halls eagerly._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

The letter only seemed to ask more questions than it answered. What kind of name was Dumbledore? If Harry was less mature he would have made a joke along the lines of dumb as a door or some such. Even now he found his control to be sorely tested. Even more so, the man apparently had a greater string of titles than most people had friends! Either way, it seemed this man had great influence as Headmaster whereas Professor McGonagall was the Deputy Headmistress. It was probably not a bad idea to get on their good side as fast as possible.

He activated his eyes and was startled to see the paper had more magic –for what else could it be- than most people he had seen. It seemed to light up every world with a sharp blue that made them glow rather enticingly. Harry also noticed a symbol he hadn't been able to see previously. It looked to be an ancient fan, the kind you'd have to wave around to get any use of. It was the brightest thing about the letter. Half of it was white, while the other half was a startling red.

Without warning, he fell to one knee and cradled his head trying his best not to scream. His head throbbed with a pain unlike any he had felt. It felt as if his eyes were burning, as if someone had punctured them with hot pincers. He clawed at them with his hands, hoping to make the pain go away. When the pain finally subsided, Harry panted as he looked to see his hands covered in what might have been blood. With his world a mix of phantom pain that threatened to make him wince, his family shouting behind him over some triviality and having just read his Hogwarts letter; Harry Potter, sighed.

If the young Potter had a mirror, he would have seen two tomoes in each eye staring back at him, foreboding.

 **XXXX**

In an ancient tower in an equally ancient tower, an old man paced. Now, this wasn't any old man. This was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of perhaps the finest magical school in all of Britain. This was one of the most powerful men to walk the face of the earth today. This was the kind of man who whispered and people scrambled to listen.

With his flowing white beard, his pointed hat and his oddly purple robes, he looked like a stereotypical and yet eccentric wizard from any bad movie about magic. Dumbledore had an air about him, a certain aura that whispered of great things beyond what other men could ever hope to fathom. The man had power, and, after his exceedingly long life, all the composure to do what he pleased with that power.

This only made his current behavior even more odd. The Headmaster was pacing through his office, his eyes briefly flicking across all the magical artifacts he had managed to accumulate over the years, and coming to rest on one item in particular.

It was a picture frame, carved out of an elegant black wood that gave some hint of its value. The image within was that of an ancient fan, part white and part red. Unlike any other picture one might typically see, this picture shimmered; its colors threatening to bleed out into the real world at every second. Few knew of its value and fewer still could ever hope to glimpse it. Albus was one of those few.

Without warning, the picture _changed_ in front of his very eyes. The red color broke free spilled out into waves, drenching the table it had been placed on. It looked remarkably like blood. Too afraid and awed to move, one of the strongest wizards in the world could only watch as it stopped as soon as it began, the blood red color fading into nothingness.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and filler of more government positions than many cared to count, fell on his knees. Tears flowed freely down the wizards eyes as the comprehension of what had happened was only just settling in.

He had succeeded but at what price?

 **XXXX**

Authors Note: After this, chapters will likely take a fair bit longer considering their increasing complexity, so be in for a week of wait. Reviews will be appreciated as this is little more than an attempt at self-improvement.

Chapters may be randomly updated to improve either their grammar or flow. As such, all errors pointed out by reviewers will be heavily encouraged. Even if you don't have anything positive to say, I'd love a well thought out critique.


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